The Spring Within
by Lynn Saunders
Summary: Spring is near.


Title: The Spring Within  
  
Author: Lynn Saunders  
  
Rating: Hmm... tough one. Probably PG-13, though it  
  
does contain non-graphic RST. ;)  
  
Classification: MSR, RST, Post-Ep Orison  
  
Spoilers: through Orison  
  
Summary: Spring is near.  
  
Feedback: Adored, re-read, printed out, and immortalized  
  
in a quality binder at  
  
Website:  
  
Distribution: Archive freely, but please drop me a line  
  
to let me know.  
  
Date Completed: 10.22.2004  
  
Dedication: Happiest of belated birthdays to Sallie!  
  
When she says she wants an Orison post-ep with MSR, who  
  
am I to refuse?  
  
Special Thanks: To Carol and Sallie, my beloved beta  
  
team.  
  
Disclaimer: Oops, not mine. Sorry.  
  
Ridiculously long author's notes at end.  
  
The Spring Within  
  
by Lynn Saunders  
  
"And everything in time, and under heaven, finally falls  
  
asleep. Wrapped in blankets white, all creation shivers  
  
underneath."  
  
- Nicole Nordman  
  
- - -  
  
WINTER 2000

Bella remembers the stars, silvery white, their foil corners  
  
crinkled with age, gleaming against the midnight blue of  
  
the attic rafters. Grandmother Amelia's house smelled of sugar  
  
cookies and fresh cedar, and the polished oak of  
  
the ancient floorboards gleamed with candlelight. In the evening,  
  
Amei spun yarns along with her thread spools. Bella listened,  
  
captivated by tales of knights and dragons and Native American  
  
spirits. She watched her grandmother's needle as it went,  
  
uniting independent pieces into one glorious whole, a quilt  
  
to cuddle and comfort her babies as they slept.Tonight, decades later, Amei listens at the window for a long  
  
while. "Humph," she mutters to the grey kitten curled in her lap,  
  
"won't be long now."Bella watches as her grandmother rummages in the large basket  
  
at her feet, removing the rag bag, and begins piecing together  
  
the first square she's worked in years.- - -Afterwards, Scully is numb. She balls her fists, her nails  
  
leaving reddened crescents in her palms, but she doesn't  
  
feel a thing. She sleeps on Mulder's couch for two days, but  
  
without him.She feels dangerous.Her nightmares are not about being held down or having  
  
her wrists bound. It's what she imagines doing to  
  
Pfaster that frightens her. There is so much fight in  
  
her, so much violence in her dreams.She is surprised that such an impulse exists inside her.  
  
What scares her is that she isn't sorry. She would do it  
  
again, given the chance."He was buried today," she had said on the third night,  
  
sitting cross-legged on Mulder's bed. "He had family somewhere  
  
once."She tries not to think of the cuts on her back or what it  
  
means that they're healing so quickly, not a scar in sight.  
  
She's not different, she tells herself. Half-buried space  
  
ships do not alter biochemistry. Yet the raw outlines of  
  
rope against her wrists were gone in a day. She pretends  
  
she didn't notice.And Mulder?Mulder's still stuck on the feel of her lips, her breath  
  
against his stubbled cheek, the way her body molds to his.  
  
She slept with him once, a week ago, bundled in his blanket,  
  
one flannel-covered leg thrown over his, while he sifted  
  
long fingers through her hair and tried not to notice. His  
  
arm was still bandaged, and she curled against his good  
  
side and pressed her nose into his neck. It was completely  
  
innocent, the best sleep she's had in ages. It was the best  
  
thing she's ever done. They haven't spoken about it, but  
  
she senses his sideways glances and knows it's on his mind.He thinks he should've come home with her, that Pfaster  
  
wouldn't have gotten so far if he'd been there. The way Mulder  
  
keeps an eye on her is completely unnerving, like she's under  
  
surveillance, a cold, suffocating feeling.He can't think about how he almost lost her again. Imagining  
  
a world without Scully is an impossibility. He would go mad.- - -Mulder comes to stand in the open bathroom doorway, sleeves  
  
rolled, tie askew, briefly eyeing the bubbles concealing her  
  
breasts. He doesn't ask what the hell she's doing like he  
  
did the first time he came home to find her this way. She's  
  
taken a bath in his too-small tub every night, but has not  
  
yet visited her own apartment. He's not sure what that means,  
  
if it means anything at all.'I took the stand to ask for his life, then I took it away.'  
  
Some days it's all she can think about."What you did... it was understandable. You know that?" He  
  
leans into the door frame, arms crossed.She blinks up at him. Yes, understandable. "But not right."He unfolds his arms and moves to the toilet, sitting on  
  
the closed lid. He looks tired, like he hasn't been  
  
sleeping. And he hasn't, she realizes, not since she came  
  
to stay.He clears his throat. She can tell he's wrestling with  
  
a thought, trying to put it into words, so she rearranges  
  
her bubbles and waits."The Reverend was planning to kill Donnie Pfaster. Have  
  
you thought at all about why he didn't succeed?"Scully does not hesitate. "Pfaster was younger, bigger,  
  
stronger...""But Orison was used to dealing with inmates. He killed two  
  
others.""Pfaster wasn't afraid to die. He overpowered Orison and  
  
took control of the situation." She's not sure what he's  
  
getting at."I think... I think Orison couldn't kill him. Maybe evil  
  
can't be destroyed by evil."She closes her eyes against the memory of a demon, eyes red  
  
and hungry in a flash of light."Darkness can only be destroyed by light. Maybe you  
  
ended it because you were the only one who could."She blinks back sudden tears, looking away. Mulder stands  
  
and comes to kiss her forehead before walking silently  
  
through the bathroom door.Alone, she puts her head down and cries herself out for  
  
the first time in ages. And she finds peace.- - -Winter in Georgia is a glorious mix of beauty and anticipation.  
  
Leafless trees, but for the seductive red of the Bradford pears,  
  
and fifty in the afternoon shade. Evening brings a nip to the air,  
  
a tickle, and the horses swish their tails and trot excitedly  
  
through yellow straw fields. The nights are brilliant, air crisp  
  
as apples right off the tree, Orion's belt blazing low in the  
  
eastern sky.Bella yanks the hay bales up by their fluorescent strings and heaves  
  
them over the side of the rusty farm pickup. The horses  
  
mill around the truck, anxious for something to munch. The  
  
weather has been poor the past few days, and they've been  
  
circling in their stalls, itching to gallop the fields.The night feels alive, things awakening. A coyote yips from  
  
the north, across the lake, and the horses stir. She stretches,  
  
breathing in the winter chill, feeling it sink into her bones.The old plantation house looms beyond the pasture, a beacon of  
  
warm yellow light. Bella can see her grandmother framed in the  
  
attic window, hard at work. Amei spends every spare moment  
  
stitching her beloved squares. Now, she'll lay them out and  
  
begin working them into pattern.The urgency Amei has shown in completing this project is more  
  
than a little odd. Who in the world lacks a quilt this late in  
  
the season?- - -A lone silver Taurus pulls in amongst grimy, late-model trucks,  
  
attracting the attention of everyone in the parking lot. The  
  
car's occupants are even more out of place, with their expensive  
  
sunglasses and Oxford shirts, long sleeves rolled in the Georgia  
  
sunshine.Glenndale Feed N' Seed is not only the largest local vendor of  
  
agricultural diets and supplies, but it is also the sole  
  
supplier of unleaded gasoline for twenty miles. Mulder leans  
  
heavily against the Taurus as he tops off the tank, squinting  
  
at the pump advertisement: "Boiled Peanuts - $2.50!"Cow bells jangle a welcome as they enter the store. It smells  
  
of husked, aged corn and worn leather, of hard work. A young  
  
man looks up from his examination of farrier's tack, tipping  
  
his hat respectfully as Scully passes. She smiles ever so  
  
slightly, secretly touched at the gesture.In the center of the long, low room, a small boy leans across  
  
a wide table to scratch the ears of a fat tabby, who stretches  
  
luxuriously in her padded box. A sign on the tabletop reads,  
  
in ominous black and white, "Beware Miss Kitty Claws.""Mark! We need two sweet feed twenties out front!" The shopkeep  
  
bustles from the back room, tugging a bandana from the back  
  
pocket of her worn overalls and wrapping her split knuckles.  
  
She jots a few notes in her own shorthand onto a generic receipt  
  
pad. "We're just about sold out. Truck's delayed and they think  
  
it'll be tomorrow before we get our next load. Will y'all hold  
  
up till then?"Her young customer squints through the warm dust of the store,  
  
nodding. "Yes ma'am." He eyes the candy display, fingers  
  
leaving muddy smudges as he wipes at his flushed cheeks."Alright." She tosses an Atomic Fireball onto the marred oak  
  
table with a wink. "Tell your daddy I said come back Thursday.""Yes'm." He scoops up her offering with a smile and dashes toward  
  
the door, pausing to yell "Thank ya!" before disappearing  
  
into the pure sunlight of the winter afternoon.The shopkeep follows, lugging a hand truck overburdened with  
  
mineral blocks, and notices the newcomers. "Can I help ya? You  
  
folks need directions?"Scully continues to browse the store's short aisles."Uh... We need to pay for gas, and I think we're just going  
  
to stretch our legs a bit," Mulder replies with a nod of greeting.  
  
"Long day on the road.""Alright, well I'll be up here if ya need anything," the older  
  
woman says with a smile before returning to her work.He finds Scully in the greenhouse, admiring the rows of purple  
  
and yellow pansies. The air is warm and sweet, thick with the  
  
scent of life."Ready?"She nods but does not turn away from the flowers.His large palm comes to rest on her shoulder. "Scully?""I'm ready," she says, looking up at him. "I was just...  
  
wishing for spring."Outside, a sandy-haired teenager and a burly farm hand are loading  
  
bags of feed onto the back of a rusty pickup while the small  
  
boy watches over the back of the cab seat. He grins at her, lips  
  
stained a deep red from the candy, and something inside her  
  
snaps, shifting irrevocably into place.- - -"Did you know that the Peach State is actually the number one  
  
exporter of peanuts?" Mulder gestures to the wrinkled brown  
  
paper bag that's currently grease-spotting the rental's  
  
dashboard.She smirks, watching as miles of farmland stretch out  
  
before them. They've driven an hour of county roads,  
  
Mulder squinting behind the steering wheel, taking side  
  
roads easily without consulting a map. He refuses to tell  
  
her where they're going. "Pack jeans," he'd said."Want some?""Boiled peanuts? No, thank you.""C'mon, Scully. You know you want one." He plucks a  
  
peanut from the bag, splitting it easily and sucking  
  
out the insides with an obnoxiously loud slurp.She decides not to comment.Outside, farmland yields abruptly to a small town square,  
  
complete with one traffic light. Mulder takes a left, and  
  
a long, winding gravel drive materializes. Set back from  
  
the road is a tremendous blue house with towering white  
  
columns and wrap-around porches. Large pecan trees line  
  
the drive and dot the pastures. Six horses drink from a  
  
glistening blue lake. A wrought-iron sign points the way  
  
to "The Bradford House, B&B.""A bed and breakfast? Mulder... tell me we're not there  
  
yet.""Ah, but we are.""It's haunted?"He shakes his head. "Nope.""The owners are possessed?""I don't think so.""Okay, what?""One word, Scully. Vacation."She eyes him suspiciously. "You can't be serious.""What? You can't tell me you don't like it."He's right. She can't. For the record, she can't hide  
  
her smile either.- - -Flour coats the care-worn countertops and the rolling pin  
  
clacks rhythmically against the dough. Amei hums to  
  
herself as she works. Soon the dough will be cut into strips  
  
and rubbed with brown cinnamon sugar and warm butter. Later,  
  
it will be fashioned into a signature latticework. Amei's  
  
apple pies are works of art. Bella doesn't dare interfere."Someone's a'comin', Miss Bella."Amei needs a hearing aid to maintain general conversation,  
  
but she can hear tires on gravel from a mile away. Bella is  
  
astounded by her grandmother's awareness of her surroundings.  
  
Beneath the innate sense of comfort she feels in Amei's  
  
presence is sometimes a creeping uneasiness, as if Amei can  
  
see straight through her.She smiles, shaking her head. "What makes you think so?"Amei looks up from her work briefly. "Can't you feel it,  
  
child? The way the air's shiftin'?"- - -The old blue house has a brick-red front door with a large  
  
brass knocker. Mulder grasps the handle with a grin, eyeing  
  
the sturdy hammock strung beneath the trees in the front yard.A young woman with cropped blonde hair and just a hint of  
  
Southern twang answers the door and hustles them inside. Scully  
  
drops their bags beside a spiraling staircase while Mulder signs  
  
on the dotted line."Now, then, welcome to the Bradford House. I'm Bella." She shakes  
  
each of their hands in turn. "If you need anything at all while  
  
you're here, just let me know." She turns as an elderly woman  
  
enters, wiping her hands on a dish rag. "And this is my  
  
grandmother, Mrs. Bradford.""Just Amei, if you please," the older woman says, nodding at  
  
her guests. "I've got a pie due out of the oven at five. I'll  
  
send some up for ya.""Thank you," Scully replies, smiling."Alright then, you folks have the entire second floor reserved.  
  
I'll let you look around. Holler if you need anything." She  
  
watches as Mulder and Scully ascend the stairs. "Oh, there  
  
is one very important thing to remember." She points to the  
  
top of the grandfather clock, where a grey kitten is crouched,  
  
peering at the newcomers with interest. "Charles is not  
  
allowed on the guest floor, so naturally that's his favorite  
  
place to scamper. Watch your toes!" she calls with a smile  
  
before bustling off down the hallway.- - -Scully picks the first room on the right, sagging onto the  
  
overstuffed mattress and burying her face in the pillows.  
  
The long drive has left her tired and hungry, and it  
  
would be so easy to drift here in the lamplight until the  
  
promised pie is available. She's almost asleep when he  
  
comes plowing in, flopping onto the bed beside her, sending  
  
pillows flying. She opens her eyes, but it's impossible to  
  
glare at him when he's this close, all warm and smelling  
  
like Mulder."Hey Scully." He smiles and she can't help smiling back.  
  
"There's a whole living room thing down the hall, with a  
  
big screen... and a fireplace," he whispers, waggling his  
  
eyebrows.She blinks sleepily up at him, and he adds, "Wake up.  
  
Food's on the way."She reaches for him without thinking, ruffling his hair,  
  
and her mouth goes dry when he leans into her touch. He's  
  
too close, mouth inches from hers, and she can't think,  
  
can't breathe. His fingers skim her fine cheekbone as  
  
she licks her lips, a nervous habit."Scully," he whispers, but she can't answer. He rests  
  
his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. She is  
  
frozen, captivated by his breath against her lips,  
  
falling, sinking into him until a tap at the hallway  
  
door brings her back from the brink. Mulder sighs and  
  
smiles sheepishly, rising to answer the door.She can't believe he didn't kiss her.- - -She's walking through golden straw fields, twirling a  
  
bag of Sunbeam bread, fiery hair bright against a rich  
  
cream sweater he's sorry he's never seen on her before.  
  
She removes a slice of bread from the bag and offers it  
  
to him before removing a piece for herself. The geese  
  
flap their wings and honk, eager for the snack.The day is bright and fresh, pot-bellied grey clouds  
  
looming overhead. "Snow clouds," Amei had said. "Now,  
  
we don't see many of those."They fling bits of bread out onto the lake, watching  
  
as the geese snap them up, black feet swooshing through  
  
the water."Do you know that when geese fly, they take turns at  
  
the point of the vee so that no one goose bears the  
  
brunt of the stress?"He smiles, taking another piece of bread from the bag.  
  
"I do." He pauses, watching her hair stir in the  
  
breeze. "Do you know that geese mate for life?"Her cheeks flush, but not from the crisp air as  
  
he suspects. "Yeah, I do."- - -Flames dance before them, sending embers flying high in  
  
the cold night air. They're sitting quite close together,  
  
presumably for warmth, on hay bales stacked like bleachers.The fair has all the trappings of any traveling carnival,  
  
but the finale is unique. Families flock to the clearing,  
  
leaving the Tilt-A-Whirl and Ferris Wheel silent and still,  
  
eager to hear the storyteller's newest tale.Scully peers at Mulder over the rim of her hot chocolate's  
  
Styrofoam cup. She's warm and happy, clutching the stuffed  
  
giraffe he won for her at the Iron Man booth, and feeling  
  
just a little brave. He slides a hair closer, and she does  
  
the same, succumbing to his magnetic pull.A hush falls over the gathering crowd as the storyteller  
  
steps to the front, taking her seat before the fire.  
  
Amei Bradford is famous (locally) for captivating her  
  
audience with stories of adventure, danger and love. She  
  
has served in this capacity for two decades because her  
  
voice and inflection are considered perfect. That, and  
  
she's the only person old enough to remember a time  
  
when oral tradition was still a cornerstone of entertainment.She looks over the audience, ensuring their complete  
  
attention before beginning her version of an ancient  
  
Native American folktale. She speaks of a young warrior  
  
who excelled in battle and hunt, but could not find the  
  
courage to court the girl he loved. The crowd listens,  
  
captivated, as the boy follows magical arrows through  
  
forests and across streams in a desperate search for a  
  
solution. After many days and many nights of dedication  
  
to his task, the boy is rewarded with a heavenly  
  
instrument, a beautiful flute which speaks from the  
  
heart of its master. A small child in the front row  
  
claps and giggles when the young man finally woos his  
  
true love, using the power he held in his heart all along."Now, my dears, travel home safely. And remember that  
  
it's what's inside your heart that matters. Sometimes  
  
we need a little help, but expressing that love is  
  
the most important thing we will ever do."- - -The ancient stairs creak as Scully climbs to the attic, in  
  
search of the inn's make-shift library. Mulder has been  
  
captured by the talk of the weathered man who comes each  
  
evening to tend the grounds. "There be ghosts in those woods,"  
  
he'd said, and Mulder was hooked. She'd crept away, dreaming  
  
of curling in front of the fire, as Mulder helped the  
  
old man chop wood.The top floor of the house is warm and clean, not so much  
  
an attic as a hobby nook. She can see Amei in front of the  
  
far window, hard at work. Before she can tap on the doorframe  
  
to announce her presence, the older woman speaks up."Now, Miss Dana, you're not gonna startle me," she says  
  
without looking up. "Come on in, then. The books will be  
  
happy to see you."Scully pauses before stepping across the threshold. "Thank you-"  
  
She stops abruptly, amazed, as the full effect of the  
  
room hits her. Three of the long walls are covered, floor  
  
to ceiling, with shelves of books. The rafters are a deep  
  
blue, scattered with hundreds of foil stars. Candles  
  
blaze in each window, making the stars sparkle. Scully  
  
is speechless.Amei chuckles, setting her needle aside and rising to  
  
meet her visitor. "When Bella was a little girl, she  
  
was as taken with it as you are.""It's extraordinary," Scully says, head tilted back to  
  
admire the stars' glitter."My Jacob made them for me as a wedding gift some forty  
  
years ago." Amei smiles, remembering his face as he  
  
showed them to her after a bottle of wine and a blissful  
  
hour on their new sofa the night before they married.  
  
"I met him when I was fifteen, and it took me twenty-five  
  
years to realize that he had always been my lover."Scully smiles, unsure of what to say."The stars are our future, Miss Dana, and our past. They  
  
are constant, burning bright through every season and  
  
every trouble. Starlight leads us through the winters  
  
of our lives and reminds us that spring will come. Cherish  
  
the one who brings starlight to your life, Miss Dana. He  
  
is and will always be the lover of your soul."Scully watches as the stars flicker gold and silver, creating  
  
spiraling patterns on the floor below. "I know."- - -She finds Mulder sleeping in front of the fire, his arm  
  
thrown across his face. She takes his hand and smoothes  
  
his hair, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.He stirs in his sleep, smiling. "Scully?""Hey," she grins back, crawling onto the couch and settling  
  
against his side. "Wake up.""I'm up," he mumbles, "I'm up."She taps the end of his nose affectionately. "You don't  
  
look awake to me."Then he's yawning, stretching, pulling her near and trapping  
  
her between the heat of his body and the back of the couch,  
  
one long leg insinuating itself between hers as his eyes  
  
close again. "Five more minutes," he whispers against her neck.In this moment, seduced by the feel and smell of him, she  
  
cannot refuse. She smiles and dozes as the fire blazes and  
  
Mulder steals kisses at random. Her mind drifts, lingering on  
  
words like 'incendiary,' 'exquisite,' and 'inevitable.'- - -Deep in dreams, she's running, feet sloshing through wet  
  
grass, with Mulder at her heels and his warm fingers curled  
  
around her wrist. Her clothes are soaked through, her hair  
  
a wild tangle of dewy red. A perfectly good rain jacket  
  
back in her room, she thinks, but Mulder is here and earlier  
  
he pulled her aside, beneath a towering oak, and kissed her  
  
so soundly that she knows she's his forever, marked.She looks back and catches him wild-eyed, panting in the hot,  
  
wet evening air. She can't resist stopping, turning to face  
  
him, running her fingers under the lapels of his leather  
  
jacket. His rain-slicked hair glistens as the setting sun  
  
blazes orange and gold in the west. A purplish love bite  
  
peeks from beneath his collar. She wonders if it still tingles.He smiles, drawing her near in the falling spring rain.God, she'll give him something to pant about.- - -She wakes to Mulder's warm breath against her collar bone.The fire has nearly burnt itself out, and the house is  
  
unnaturally dark and cool. She carefully extracts herself  
  
from his embrace and creeps through the living room to  
  
investigate.She locates a lamp and fumbles for the switch, sighing at  
  
its fruitless click. The others prove no better, and the  
  
VCR's digital clock casts no green glow. No power, she  
  
thinks, and the view from the window confirms her suspicions.The night is coal-black, silent and still. A thick blanket  
  
of brilliant snow covers everything in sight, glinting in  
  
the moonlight. Across the yard, power lines dip low under  
  
the weight of the ice.Quietly, she pads to the closet, finding and lighting a  
  
small oil lamp. Its glow warms her, and she flashes on the  
  
way the muscles of Mulder's back must look in firelight,  
  
can almost feel them moving beneath her fingers.In his room, she rummages through his suitcase, hunting  
  
for a pair of sweat pants to steal. She knows from  
  
previous experience that she will have to cinch the  
  
drawstring as far as it will go and roll the waistband  
  
three times to be able to walk in them. His grey FBI  
  
t-shirt is soft from over-laundering, and she knows  
  
exactly where to find it because she confiscated it months  
  
ago.She's on her way to wake him when something in the hallway  
  
catches her eye, a splash of white in the dark. She  
  
approaches to find a scrap of paper pinned neatly to a large  
  
folded quilt. She runs her fingers along the thick cotton in  
  
admiration before removing the note. A few short lines in  
  
Amei's antiquated hand reveal that the gift is hers."Oh," Scully breathes, rereading the words. She places the  
  
lamp on the floor and carefully unfolds the soft fabric,  
  
revealing dozens of crisp white stars against a sea of  
  
rich blue.- - -Curious that the first snow in two years creeps in during  
  
your visit. I hope the stars will help lead the way to  
  
the spring you so desire. It will not do to love silently.- - -Mulder stirs, blinking awake. "Scully?," he whispers."I'm here," she answers, and he turns toward her voice,  
  
yawning. She's adding another log to the fire, mindful of  
  
the thick quilt wrapped around her shoulders. "The power's  
  
out.""Hmm?""It's snowing."He smiles sleepily. "I can keep you warm, Scully."She looks up at him then, quirking an eyebrow. "Yes,  
  
that was my plan."He doesn't know how to deal with this side of her, the  
  
rumpled, sexy side that sleeps in his clothes and touches  
  
him when he least expects it, so he simply stares at her.She comes to him slowly, pausing to extinguish the oil  
  
lamp before settling onto the couch. He slips the quilt from  
  
her shoulders and unfurls it, tucking the soft cotton around  
  
them as she snuggles against his chest.He takes the hem of her t-shirt between his fingers.  
  
"Agent Scully, are you wearing my clothes?"She nods against his shoulder. "Is that a problem?"Warm fingers tuck her hair behind her ear. "Yes, I demand  
  
that you remove them immediately." This earns him a chuckle,  
  
and he presses a kiss to her temple. "Nice blanket."She pulls back slightly so that she can see his face.  
  
"You know Amei, the older woman? She made this for us."He blinks, confused."She... offered some advice earlier." Scully pauses, trying to  
  
put her thoughts into words. "You and I are very close, Mulder. I  
  
think she wanted to make sure we didn't take that for granted."He nods, thumbing a tear from cheek. "What do you think, Scully?"She traces his eyebrow with her thumb. "I think it's time."Then his lips are against hers, and she doesn't think for a  
  
long while, distracted by Mulder's gently wandering hands  
  
and the feel of him pressing her into the couch cushions as  
  
she tugs at his clothes. Her experience is reduced to a  
  
series of sensations, the glide of warm fingers against her  
  
belly, the sweet scrape of his cheek against her thigh, each  
  
puff of breath as he whispers in her ear. The muscles of his  
  
back do indeed look lovely in firelight, and she bites his  
  
shoulder in appreciation.God, it's good. So good it makes her eyes water. So good  
  
she won't be able to move afterwards.Deep in the night, as tiny snowflakes flutter outside and  
  
embers glow warm from the fire within, they make love  
  
beneath a blanket of starlight.Spring is near.- - -"In a way winter is the real spring, the time when the  
  
inner things happen, the resurge of nature."  
  
- Edna O' BrienAuthor's Notes:  
  
- All of the scenery is real. Georgia is a beautiful place  
  
to spend the winter. The Bradford House is not real, but it  
  
is an accurate description of a real place.  
  
-I was thinking about winter and hibernation and how they  
  
relate to us.  
  
-Amei tells her version of an actual Native American folk  
  
tale. You can read more about The Story of the Love Flue  
  
at  
  
-In attempting to align cannon and date stamps, I went  
  
crazy. In my mind, Orison happens in early January, just  
  
after Millennium.  
  
-I find quilting fascinating. I watched my own grandmother  
  
make countless quilts for her family. It's something  
  
I'd like to learn to do.  
  
-This fic has been brought to you by the songs of  
  
Sarah McLachlan (Mirrorball) and Dave Matthews Band (Live  
  
at Luther College). Okay, not really. 


End file.
